baby, once i get it, i'm yours
by weloveuntilwedie
Summary: She doesn't like the culprit at all - he's rude, reckless and the worst father she could possibly imagine - but of course, their damn kids are inseparable. Even worse, he's hired to redo the rest of their apartment. Fantastic. Puck/Quinn, AU, m for language and possibly later chapters
1. you know i don't believe you

'**sup? since i'm probably not ever going to get quinn and puck back on glee itself (i love you so much ryan murphy like thank you so incredibly much for friendzoning quick) here is another multi-chaptered story about those two lovely fictional characters.**

**this one is based on the movie 'mon pire cauchemar' and no, i'm not being a douchebag i actually watch french movies.**

**hopefully quinn and puck are in character but quinn is and always will be one of the hardest character for me to write so **_**psych**_**! also, i wanted to use glee characters only and no i do not ship will and quinn because that's dirty but i suck at oc so.. try to think of it as humor?**

**dedicated to all the quick shippers out there, y'all are amazing!**

**title comes from come and get it by my favorite lady on the entire planet selena gomez and the chapter title is from don't you want me by human league.**

x

_chapter one: you know i don't believe you_

These idiots honestly can't do anything right. The twenty-seven year old Quinn Fabray sighs as she rips up another ten-year-plan by one her assistants before running a hand through her blonde locks.

"Fix this!" She throws the ripped up paper into a trashcan as she yells at her assistant, Kurt, through the window separating her office from the rest of the art department.

"Yes, Ms. Fabray," Kurt gulps as he frantically starts typing on his computer and when she picks up her phone to call home and check on her family she hears him complain about her yet _again_. They call her a bitch behind her back, thinking she doesn't know.

They don't understand - when she's too nice they don't get anything done and when she's too mean - they all hate her but at least she doesn't lose her job. Well, she hasn't yet anyway, unless he, along with all of her other employees, keep up the extremely _good_ work.

There's no way in between too nice or too mean, she's figured that out over the past few years working as the art director off a high profile art museum in New York City.

She doesn't mind they call her names and that they _loathe_ her, she knows a common enemy stimulates unity and teamwork which ultimately favors her because they do their job and she gets to do hers. And she's good at that, doing her job, the absolute _best_ - but she can't help but think he didn't go through four years of freaking Yale for _this_.

x

"Shit," she mutters as she drops her keys on the ground next to her car. She's already later than late to a parent meeting at her son's school and honestly couldn't Kurt just have handled calling up the natural history museum to ask about an upcoming transfer himself? A _high school dropout_ would've been able to do that.

She quickly picks them up and throws them in her bag, scrambling in the huge accessory for her phone, cursing to herself when she reaches the classroom and she still doesn't have it. This is exactly why she prefers utility over fashion.

She tries to fix her hair, sweeping it up in a bun and straighten her pencil skirt before knocking on the classroom and entering it. The teacher interrupts his rant about the upcoming intelligence test for a moment to welcome her in a sweet but obviously annoyed '_miss Fabray_' before he continues. She gets a few stares but ignores them as she sits down on a table in the back.

Most of the mothers here are stay-at-home moms, which is fine, and she doesn't judge them but they do judge her. On one of these things a few years back she got called out on being a bad mother because she didn't fulfill her primary task - taking care of her kid and cooking dinner for him and making sure his clothes were washed. They set the feminist movement back about five hundred years with that one.

She set them straight though, told them she prefered meaning something to society rather than sitting at home doing nothing when her kid was at school.

The teacher, Mrs. Hudson, she thinks it was, talks rapidly and eloquent but Quinn manages to get a few words in between there after about five minutes.

"I think these children are much too young to be tested on intelligence and to make a choice on what they want to be in ten years. They're just eight years old. They're busy with playing around not with if they prefer a career in health or science or _fashion_."

"You have to understand it's just a test run, Ms. Fabray, if in a few years it turns out that we're not getting the results we're aiming for -" Mrs. Hudson straightens her back and gets up from the desk. She's smaller than Quinn remembers, dumber, too. She must've went along with the board because from the way she's speaking Quinn knows she's not a hundred percent behind what she's saying.

"But what Rich my son get from that? He'll have wasted three, four years in a direction that might fit his brain best but not his heart. It'll be too late for him to -"

"Why don't we get to what's _really_ important here?" A guy in the front speaks up and she can't get a good look at him from her seat in the back. "The food in the cafeteria. I hear my kid is being served bacon. I'm all for it but I think my mom would probably come back from the dead to pull my ass to the depths of hell with her. We're Jews, you know."

A few people laugh and she sighs frustratingly, "I think we need to address the test right now, not -" and she's being ignored completely. And bacon was amazing and delicious and definitely her absolute favorite dish but it was definitely _not_ a priority right now. (Especially not when he wanted it gone)

She tries to get a better look at him by moving her upper body into different direction but no luck until Mrs. Cohen Chang decides to move her head to the right at the same time as Mrs. Jones. It's then she notices it's not just someone, it's Noah Puckerman. God, she hates him. One time he brought his son to school in limousine he obviously couldn't afford so there was only two possibilities. One, he got an actual job or two, he decided to get some of special illegal _work_ done right before bringing his son to school. She's betting on the latter. He's awful.

"Maybe we could talk about the food here in private, Mrs. Hudson."

Exhibit A.

He winks at Mrs. Hudson and she blushes furiously, glaring at him as she ignores his advances and goes onto the next topic - gym clothes.

Great, he not only completely wasted her opportunity to talk about the one important thing that's going on at this school, he managed to disgust her even more when it comes to him.

x

She comes home, more than tired, and slips off her heels along with her coat, ready to take a nice, long warm bath. She takes out the clip in her hair and runs a hand through her through it when she hears laughter from her son's room.

"Nicholas, have you finished your homework?" She opens the door slightly and she doesn't want to be the bad guy here, not really, but she just wants him to be the best he can be. And that means making his homework and studying.

"Yes, mom," he rolls his eyes as he slightly moves his controller to the right, not taking his eyes of the screen, "And it's _Nick_."

Quinn sighs, opening the door further as she spots a boy about his age sitting next to him on the bed. She immediately softens, not wanting to embarrass her own son in front of his friends, "Oh, hey. I'm Mrs. Fabray but you can me Quinn if you like."

He smiles a little, getting up from the bed and sticking out his hand, "I'm Jackson Puckerman, nice to meet you, ma'am."

She slightly narrows her eyes - Puckerman. Does that damn man need to follow her everywhere she goes? Then she realizes his manners (and her own) and shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, too, Jackson."

Maybe it's not the same Puckerman family line, because let's be honest the man himself doesn't even know how to spell polite, let alone raise his son to be just that.

She looks at the screen and frowns, "What exactly is the purpose of this, Nicho- Nick?"

"You need to shoot as many zombies as you can, mom," he replies like she should already know the answer, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he moves his body to the left.

"Do you, do you like playing video games, too?" She asks the other small boy in the room, hesitantly as she licks her lips.

"Yes, I think you can learn quite a few things from them. An example is coordination and perhaps endurance."

"Okay."

She laughs, almost snorts to herself as she leaves the room. Right, no way in hell that's Puckerman's son.

x

"Did you call the contractor yet?" She asks her boyfriend, Richard, as she walks through a hole in the wall. There's _literally_ a hole in the wall, from the kitchen to their bedroom, and there are quite a few more spread over their entire apartment. Their apartment was a mess and this was already their second contractor, none of them able to give her exactly what she wants.

He doesn't look up from his magazine as he takes a sip from his coffee. "I did. He said that as long as you can't let his employees do his job than he can't come back and I'm putting this very nicely."

"Look, all I'm asking is that when he drills, he does it right so there isn't dust all over the place when I come home," she retorts, pulling her dress over her head and putting her bathrobe on.

"You almost stabbed one of them with the drill because you wanted to show him how to do it properly."

"I was _this_ close to actually stabbing him," she bites back, hanging her dress on the door, ready to go to the drycleaner.

"He won't come back, Quinn," he tells her, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing his eyes, still not seeming very interested in whatever she has to say and she sighs.

"So, call a new one."

"I called three more, apparently you're already known in the carpenter business."

She huffs as she decides not to continue this conversation right now. She's too tired, too stressed and too fed up with this day already. All she needs is a nice, relaxing bath.

x

She's just about to lower herself in the tub when the door rings and from the sound of classical music Richard is having another one of his private session (she's learned that's code for jacking off on their room as he stares at much younger girls than her) so he's not responding anytime soon and she can't really expect for Nicholas to ever help her out, so with a sigh she slips back into her bathrobe and walks towards the front door.

It's like God hates her because it's none other than Noah Puckerman. Fabulous.

"Looking good, Fabray, got a hot date?" He smirks and she quickly tightens the robe around herself. Damn Puckerman.

"What are you doing here?" She snaps and he lets out a small laugh.

"I'm here to pick up my son, Jack?" He gives her a funny look, like she should've at least figured out by now that it is, in fact his son.

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure that what?" He raises an eyebrow as his smirk fades a little.

"He's, he's your son," she stammers and she feels kind of stupid, _of course_ it's his son. Why else would he be here? They have the same last name for God's sake.

"Positive," he replies as he pushes past her and into the apartment. "If you don't mind I'm just charging my phone for a sec," he informs her already taking out his charger and phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet before screaming, "Jackson!"

"Wait, you're coming in?" She stumbles on her words as she follows him quickly and he turns around and gives her an incredulous look, "Well, you can throw him out of the fucking window so I can catch him outside but that wouldn't be safe, huh?"

"Jackson," he screams again and she gives in, the sooner he gets Jackson the faster he's gone.

"What's going on here?" Richard comes out of their bedroom, putting a hand on her back and she gives him a stern look (all the while hoping he washed his hands), "Nothing. _Mr. Puckerman_ is just here to pick up his son."

"You can call me Puck, Fabray." He winks (and she resists the urge to punch that damn eye shut forever) and as on cue Nicholas and Jackson join them and Puck smirks, straightening his broad shoulders, "Kids are here, grandpa's here - looks like fucking Christmas already."

"Nicholas is my son," Richard corrects him with a small, polite laugh and Quinn simply glares at him. "He's only fifty-eight."

Noah, or Puck, _whatever_, snorts (as if to say she's insane) before running a hand over Jackson's head, lowering himself, "How're you, little dude?"

"I'm fine, dad," he smiles up at his father, his eyes twinkling and Quinn almost feels sorry for the kid. With a father like that.. In and out prison, only there when he wants to be - a smart boy like Jackson definitely deserves better.

The devil himself knocks on the nearest wall, and they all hear the hollow sound it produces, "This thing is kind of unstable. Who the hell is taking care of this shit? It's fucking dangerous, man."

"Our contractor has been.. away for a while," Richard retorts, clearing his throat as he shoots Quinn a small glance before looking back up at Puck, "You want something to drink?"

"I'd love to man, but my friend is on the hallway and I can't really leave her -"

"How rude of us!" Richard exclaims, already walking over to the door.

"You don't have to -" Quinn and Puck say at the same time, sharing a quick look before she idly crosses her arms and decides to just give in. If Richard wanted to bring in Noah's friend - that wasn't her problem. She was taking her damn bath and she was taking it right now.

Richard opens the door, revealing a small brunette with less clothes to shed than newborn baby. Richard eyes widen as he stammers, "Oh, hello there. Come in, please."

The brunette takes inhales one last time before throwing her cigarette on the floor and stamping down on it. Quinn makes a mental note to buy new floorboards tomorrow.

"Richard, Quinn, this is Sandra," Puck smirks as he puts his arm around the tiny woman and pulls her into his chest.

"It's Sugar, actually," the brunette, Sugar, cackles as she pops her bubblegum.

"Well, would you like something to drink? Coffee?" Richard offers again and Quinn rolls her eyes. No, she's not going to do this. She's not going to be friendly and pretend to be interested in them while Noah and Sugar slowly make their way through their entire liquor cabinet.

"Sure, I'll have some whiskey, not the cheap kind, I can taste the difference," he tells the older man (who laughs in response and honestly? She was considering putting them both outside) before turning to his _girlfriend_ and whispering something in her ear, making her giggle.

Quinn scrunches her nose, disgusted as Nicholas pulls on her bathrobe.

"Mom, can Jackson stay over?" Quinn helplessly looks at Richard but he doesn't seem to get the hint and gives his approval - she looks over at Noah who seems more than happy to have a night by himself (or rather _with_ Sugar).

"If it's alright with Fabray, sure, buddy."

Quinn looks over at Jackson and then at Noah and his little prostitute before realizing that she really can't traumatize the eight year old any further.

"Of course, Jackson. Nick can you grab him some pajamas?"

x

"What do you want, Mr. Puckerman?" The chick, Berry or Hudson or whatever her name is now, tells him as she practically runs away from him on those high heels of her.

"Look, I got another letter from social services and I just want them to back off so could you -"

"What could I possibly have to do with that, Mr. Puckerman?" She says firmly and he almost rolls his eyes because come on, does she honestly think he's that stupid?

"I know it was you and look, I _know_ me and my son had to sleep in my van for a period of time but do you know how hard it is to get a job in this economy? It's not like I wanted to sleep in a fucking van, I mean have you ever tried to? It's not really comfortable plus it's not a real turn on for the ladies," he chuckles but quickly stops when she glares at him.

"You have given me no evidence that the situation has improved and when social services come to ask for my opinion on the matter, I'm _not_ going to lie," she tells him sternly as she stops walking and takes the letter from him, sighing, "I'm an honest person, Mr. Puckerman, so if you want them to, as you so kindly said, '_back off_'," she gives him a look, "Show me that the situation has improved. That you can offer Jackson a stable home. He deserves that."

Puck nods his head, running a hand through his mohawk as she takes another look at the letter, looking up at him with a sad, sympathetic look. "I know this hard, Mr. Puckerman, but you might want to consider if you're really what's best for your son."

He smirks at her, reaching out to touch her cheek softly, "If you have somewhere more _private_ we could go, I can show you something else that's hard."

"You_ are_ aware that I'm married, right?" She scrunches up her nose, flashing him the giant rock around her left ring finger and his smirks grows, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

She scoffs, pushing the letter back into his hands before storming off and honestly, her back looks much better than her frontal view anyway. Her ass is heaven compared to her boobs.

As he walks back to the courtyard to pick up his kid he spots that old dude, what's his name again? Rick or Rich.. Richard! Right, Richard walking with his son and Jackson. He walks over to them and nods at him.

"'Sup?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Richard replies as he smiles tightly. Puck smiles at his son, ruffling his hair as his bumps a fist with him.

"Dad, can Jackson come to soccer practice with me?" The other, tiny bro says and Puck shakes his head as Jackson asks him, "Yeah, please, dad, can I?"

"No, sorry, we've bothered this old fella enough," he chuckles as he pats Richard on the back. Richard shrugs a little, probably trying to be polite, "It's okay. We could get something to drink while they play."

"Fine with me, we live a block away from here - we can just get his shit and go," Puck informs him as he leads them to his apartment.

They walk up to a small, old hotel and Puck opens the door to an equally small room, Jackson already running off with Nick to grab his clothes, "I know this is about as big as your shithouse but it's enough for the two of us."

"It's.. nice," Richard tries with a small smile as he looks around. They hear a lot of banging on the walls and loud metal music from downstairs and there are some people screaming outside on the street but Richard really didn't expect anything less from the kind of neighborhood they apparently _liv_e in.

"I used to do the manager lady and she lets me stay here for with a discount," he tells Richard as opens up a cupboard and pulls out a old twinkie. "You hungry?" Richard shakes his head in distaste as Puck shrugs and eats one, "Suit yourself. Jackson, don't forget your shoes!"

"I've been looking for an apartment but they're not easy to find, especially not when you make what I make."

Richard nods his head in understanding as he carefully leans back against the wall. He checks his watch, "We really need to get going."

Puck nods his head this time, "Jackson! Nick! Quit making out and get back here!"

x

"So what do you do?" Puck asks him as he takes a sip from his beer. Best beer he's ever had in his opinion. Then again, he could never really afford this kind, the _expensive_ kind.

"I'm a publicist, I publish books," Richard tells him as he runs a hand over his grey hair and smiles at him, taking a sip of his espresso. They're sitting at the bar at Nick's high profile soccer club and Puck's impressed, the rich must think soccer's super important.

"So you're a writer?" Puck cocks an eyebrow and Richard shakes his head, "No, no, writers send me their books and my employees read them and when they're good - I publish them."

"So.." Puck concludes again, "You get paid big bucks to let other people do the work?"

Richard laughs at this, takes a white card out of his jacket and places it on the bar. "Maybe. But I do get my own business card."

"Fancy," Puck replies as he looks at the card, "Schuester? You're not married to Fabray? Or is she too stuck up to take on your name?"

"No, no, we're not married. She used to be my student at Yale and it was kind of messy when she got pregnant so we never really did."

"Well, you're a smart dude, marriage is for suckers," Puck orders another beer, "You totally dodged a bullet there."

Richard nods his head as takes a sip of his coffee and Puck smirks, "So thanks for the other night by the way. Best lay of my life."

"Oh, so you and that..." Richard's eyes light up in excitement as he pictures the brunette from a few nights ago.

"Yeah, totally, dude. Her boobs were _awesome_ and she was super cheap. You ever been with a whore?"

Richard almost chokes on his coffee as he shakes his head, coloring red.

"You don't know what you're missing, Jack Nicholson!"

Richard chuckles as he looks at his watch, "Well, practice's almost over, we should go."

"Of course," Puck replies as he starts petting his pockets, "Do you happen to have a five?"

"Sure," Richard tells him as he pulls out a five dollar bill and puts it down on the bar, already walking towards the soccer fields outside. Puck shrugs and takes the five and stuffs in his pocket before following Richard.

These people honestly weren't going to miss five dollars when their toilets were made out of fucking gold.

x

He's meeting with another one of those social workers, who's helping him find an apartment and this time it's a foxy redheaded one.

"Have you tried finding another job besides working as..." Her voice trails off as she looks at the long list beside her, "Actor, professional gambler and..." She frowns, before looking up at him, "Naked model?"

"I couldn't do it. They wanted me to give up my waffles - no way I was doing that," he chuckles as he checks the clock behind her, "So, you found me another apartment or what?"

"I'm sorry, but we haven't yet."

"How do they expect me to take care of my son in this economy? I can't get a normal job, I can't get a normal apartment - "

The redhead raises her eyebrows as she starts cleaning her keyboard with a wet towel, the ones he used to use to wipe his son's ass which is totally weird, before looking back at him, offering, "I could write a letter in which I state you've been looking extremely hard for an apartment so they won't think you've been sitting around."

He nods his head (because in spite of what anyone else thinks he loves Jackson and he wants the best for him and he doesn't want to lose him) as she starts typing, using just her pointer fingers.

"You type very.. _erotic_," he flirts and she looks up at him, stopping her current actions and she slowly pushes a pamphlet his way.

_So you're trying to make up for your small penis by acting like a stud_

He sighs, leaning back on his chair as she starts typing again. "I forgot my charms don't work on women with IQ's above 80."

x

"Richard!" Quinn yells frantically as she walks in on Noah, shirtless, working on fixing her toilet. "Why is there a half naked criminal in my bathroom?"

"Wow, you don't hesitate to pass judgement, do you, MILF?" Puck chuckles as he pulls a white wifebeater over his head.

"Richard!" Her voice almost wavers and Richard finally appears.

"What's wrong, Quinn?"

"Why the hell is he here?" She points a finger at Puck and Richard shrugs idly, "Jackson was over and he came to pick it up when I let it slip the toilet still wasn't working. He said he could fix it so I let him. I hate going over to the neighbours asking them if I could please do the number two, Quinn."

"Would you like some wine?" Richard offers Quinn as a peace offering as he pops open one of his oldest and most expensive ones.

"Thanks," Puck says, sticking his nose in the glass and sniffing loudly before gulping the entire content of the glass down his throat.

"Well, if I do the rest," Puck starts talking again, pouring himself another glass, "It looks like it's going to take about five weeks."

"Five weeks?!" Quinn repeats loudly, already shaking her head no. No freaking way.

"Just five weeks?" Richard ponders and Quinn can't believe he's even _considering_ it! They're probably going to come home one day to find him dead because of an overdose or to find him gone while taking all of their belongings or _worse_ - they're going to find him in the middle of a quickie! No freaking way. Over her dead body.

Richard's eyes light up as he reaches out to shake Puck's hand, "Sounds good to me!"

That's it. She's moving out or permanently locking herself in the closet. She feels like a damn teenager being told what to do by her father! Nope. Nein. Non. Nej. Nie. Naõ. Nee. No!

This was outrageous and there was no way he was going to working in _her_ home, being payed with _her_ money, making these five weeks of _her_ life miserable - not until the day hell freezes over.

x

**thanks so much for reading this and a review would absolutely be the best thing you could ever do for me!**


	2. i know you're angry inside

**thanks for reading this! a review would honestly mean the world :)**

**it's not beta'd, so sorry for that but i tried to read it over once or twice so i hope there's not too many mistakes.**

**title is from let me love it out you by tim mcgraw.**

x

_chapter two: i know you're angry inside_

She's absolutely, completely, a hundred percent done with Noah Puckerman.

He's everywhere, _anywhere_, all the time. She thinks she's going nuts.

He's only been here for three days and he's started doing about fifty things to her house (forty-nine of which she didn't ask for) left half of them unfinished and went to do another fifty things and his stuff is _everywhere_, it even smells like him in their apartment. (Okay, so he does smell nice - all manly and musky and sweaty but that's not the point!)

Currently, she's listening to him blaring eighties rock through the speakers and to be honest she'd rather be clawing out her own eardrums right now. She bangs on the wall for the fifth time, still no answer. Sighing frustratingly, she blows her hair out of her face before fastening it in a ponytail and stalking over there, after slipping into the nearest skirt, which happens to be a short one but it's not like she did it intently.

His eyes checking her out like she was cast in some low-key indie porno however, were intently, (To be honest, it did feel good to be finally be looked at like a woman again not the mother of my child or head bitch in charge Quinn Fabray but then again he was a horn dog so the fact she had boobs and breathed was probably enough to get him going) and very, _very_ obvious. She quickly tries covering herself up at least a little as she tries not to stare at his toned abs.

Another annoying habit of Noah Puckerman besides blaring music through the entire apartment from seven in the morning till ten in the evening, he liked to work _shirtless_.

_I would do anything for love_ from _Meatloaf_ is playing and she actually secretly really loves that song but no way in hell she's going to admit that, ever. Not when she wants him to shut it off.

"How long is this going to take?"

He smirks a little, finally tearing his eyes away from her legs, puts down the sandpaper in his hands as he shrugs, "One, two hours tops."

"No," she clarifies sternly, "This entire thing. Frankly, I've been getting less attentive at work because I can't get enough sleep."

"You thinkin' about me, Fabray?" He asks, amused as he picks up his paintbrush and applies some on the wall before picking the sandpaper back up.

"No," she repeats herself, praying to dear God she's not blushing because if she is, her own body is betraying her. She does not blush because slightly attractive hobos compliment her. "Your continued music prevails of that."

"So if there were no music, you would?" He sounds so pleased with himself she wants to pick up that bucket of paint and empty it above his head. He turns his head slightly, glancing over at her.

She purses her lips and crosses her arms, "_Puckerman_, how much longer is this going to go on?"

"Four, five weeks, maybe longer if you continue wearing those skirts," he offers and he does turn around this time, and raises an eyebrow and she just wants to take his head and slam it into the wall because she hates him _that_ much.

"Well," she clears her throat, her voice not wavering because she makes sure to never, ever appear to be _weak_ in front of him, "I don't think my husband would be so pleased to hear that."

"Why don't you? I mean, you have had countless fucking reasons, I have to admit that sometimes I can be a little _inappropriate_," he raises an eyebrows and damn, the idiot can self reflect, "But you haven't told him."

"Yet," she adds angrily, knowing he's challenging her (he's trying to imply she likes his comments but oh man, he's dead wrong about that) before stalking over to him and for a second she sees something along the lines of hope flash in front of his eyes. She smirks, leaning closer, before slamming her hand down on his radio's off-button. "Goodnight, Noah."

Later when she's lying down in bed with a smile on her face, finally able to get some sleep, she hears him sing loudly to himself - the sandpaper making excruciatingly scratchy noises. She groans into the pillow, swearing she's going to kill him in the morning.

x

To her surprise, Noah has been quite... quiet for a few days. After their ego-off the other night he hasn't done anything exceptionally annoying.

That is until she opens the toilet and actually finds him on there, doing _something_, and she screams _so_ loudly and he echoes her just as loud, if not louder. She thinks her neighbours might really call the police this time. This is so unprofessional, she can't even cope with it - so she slams the door in his face. That's like her going to a client's house and while he's looking at paintings, deciding to take a massive you know, in his toilet.

"You should've knocked, Fabray!"

x

Finally, she's able to escape the epitome of a tumor called Noah Puckerman while taking a relaxing warm shower. Seriously, he's been here for almost two weeks and she hasn't had a single moment to herself.

Either Nick needs help with his homework and she's the one to come to since _she went to Yale and is always blabbing on about college_ or Richard wants her to help with another rejection letter because he can't think of enough ways to say no without sounding like a cliché douchebag or Noah Puckerman is all up in her grill with his tendencies to make _a lot_ of freaking noise.

Jackson is adorable and smart and so well-mannered though and sometimes she finds herself wondering how great he could be if Noah would just dial it down a little. Since he's been hanging around with Nick, his grades have improved from C- to A's - which is literally a miracle because she's been trying for years to get him to make his homework and study.

Just as she's drifting off into happy thoughts - like how she accomplished another deal with the _louvre_ today, or how Nick made her a drawing today since the first time he was three - a piece of the wall falls down right next to her feet, creating a huge hole on face-level. She screams as she looks up into the hole to find Puck's face.

"Seriously?" She screams, scrunching up her nose, ready to flick his face through the hole.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, shrugging half-heartedly with a smirk and she leans forward, making sure the wall covers her body, taking the spray shower and aiming it at his face.

"It seems like I am going to have to train you like a little baby kitten, Puckerman!"

x

"So, Rich, can I call you Rich?" Puck doesn't wait for an answer as he looks at the older man, "Can I store my stuff somewhere? The Lady has been complaining about my hammer and shit laying around kids." He rolls his eyes as he nods towards the small blonde woman reading a book on the couch. (He ignores the fact he thinks she looks really pretty with glasses - all sophisticated and smart and shit.)

"Yes, sure," Richard offers him as he rubs the back of his neck tiredly, "I can give you the key to the maid's room, she lives above us."

"She has her own place to live? That's sweet," he answers as he patiently waits for Rich to hand him the keys, stuffing them in his jeans pockets. Richard lowers his voice as he gets up from his seat and walks over to Puck.

"So, I was talking with Quinn earlier and I have come to the conclusion that it honestly would just be better if you got here after she leaves and left before she was back. She has stress spots all over her face," Richard pats him on the back as he leads him into the kitchen and out of Quinn's earshot.

Puck winces, commenting, "Ouch, that's not pretty," before he snickers, "So Lady Fabray really has your balls on a tight leash, doesn't she?"

Richard's eyes widen as looks over at Puck, who only laughs at his response. "I bet her frustration and anger works out for you in the bedroom, right? I bet the ice queen's a real fucking animal."

With this remark, Richard only blankly stares at him, blinking a few times as Puck responds with an "Oh.."

and then an "_Oh_!" as he grimaces. "So she's a real bore in the sack, too?"

Richard sighs as he rubs a hand over his face, "It was fine before we got Nicholas, something about the whole student-professor thing made her feel powerful but after we had him - it went from three times a day to nothing."

"Nothing?" Puck repeats so loudly with his eyebrows raised that Quinn even asks what's going on.

"Nothing, honey!" Richard replies in a sugary sweet voice before lowering it again, "Yes, I know, but I'm fine with it. I mean we have Nick and she has her job and I have mine and at the end of the day, I'm just, you know, _tired_."

Puck raises his eyebrows in understanding, "They have pills for that, you know."

Rich shakes his head, "No, it's not that. I guess," he sighs, "I guess, I'm not as attracted as I was to her before we got Nicholas."

Puck's eyes widen as he looks over at the hella hot lady in the livingroom, currently moving her head to the beat off whatever song is playing on her iPhone, mouthing the words as she flips another page of her book. He can't really stand her but to say she's not attractive? She's fine as hell.

"You're not attracted..." He points his thumb towards said blonde, "_That_? Has your old-age caused you to go blind or maybe gay?"

Richard sighs, almost ashamed to admit it as he says, "I don't know, okay? She's attractive but, not sexually, not anymore. She used to make an effort to dress up for me to do her hair and make-up and to make sure that what she dressed was exactly what I liked and now.. It just feels like we're strangers. She wears sweatpants on Saturday's instead making me go crazy ."

"Listen, that one, over there, could look hot in a fucking trash bag, so maybe it's not her, and it's not you, maybe it's you together," Puck offers, licking his lips before adding, "Have you ever tried a new lady? Maybe you just grew tired of Fabray, or something, I dunno."

Honestly, he has no radical explanation because one, he's never been with someone as long as them nor as long as he's been with Jackson's mom which was like eleven months, two, the only explanations he does have is blindness or gayness - and he offered those already.

"I'm a faithful man, Puck," Rich replied sternly

"That's what they all say until they're not," Puck tells him genuinely and he means it, because never in his life has he met a person that was either worth fighting for or worth staying with for longer than forty-eight hours. Love was bullshit and if it did exist, love was also temporary.

He learned that much in his twenty-seven years of shitty existence.

x

"Come on, didn't some old man die in the meantime?" Puck frowns as he leans forward on his chair. Emma shakes her red hair as she continues typing on her computer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Puckerman, there are no apartments available yet."

"Well shit," he sighs leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his mohawk. "Look, you don't just let a baby chicken run around a kitchen, right? The guarddog is bound to eat him."

"Mr. Puckerman, comparing your son to a chicken really isn't appropriate when in a social worker's office," Emma smiles tightly and he frowns again.

"No, no, he's the guarddog."

"Comparing him to an animal by default is something you really shouldn't do," Emma lets out a small laugh as she shoves another pamphlet towards him.

_Don't be such a douchebag: how to overcome the obstacle of your personality, includes a guide on being a mediocre dad_

He chuckles a little before looking up at Emma, making it extra smoldering, "So, how about that drink?"

x

"Oh, no, I totally love my job, helping people is kind of my thing, you see," she tells him as her plastic gloved hands roughly wipe the rim of the glass of water in front of her, her activity for over half an hour now. "I love giving parents advice and see them actually taking it on."

After the first twenty minutes his expression had changed from _faking a smile for the sake of getting into her pants_ into _okay, I think she's one of those crazy cat ladies_ and since a minute or so his expression was more _I am so fucking done she is totally craycray. _He was positive woman like her inspire _the smiths_ and _gun 'n roses_ songs like_ unhappy birthday _and _used to love her_ - if not serial killers. This was kind of not really his kind of woman.

"That's cool," he answers as she finally puts the wipe down and carefully takes a sip, before taking out a clean wipe and starting to clean the glass again, claiming the bacteria in the air have already _gotten to it_.

He's about to either pull all of his hair out or make up an excuse about having to pick up his son when Schuester suddenly appears next to their table.

"Rich!" Puck cries out happily, she was nice and all but clinically insane. "This is Emma, Emma, this is Rich. I totally just remembered I need to get.. my.. hair.. dyed," he stammers not so smoothly before sending her an apologetic look.

He pats Richard on the chest, shoving him the direction of his chair, before hurriedly and quietly blurting out, "She's all yours, not really my type, kind of loco," and stalking off.

"Hi, I'm Richard."

"Emma Pillsbury."

Surely he was doing Richard a favor, because he definitely needed to get laid after what, seven years? And really, after seven years, it didn't matter what kind of woman it was. Even totally AC/DC (or OCDC or OCD or _whatever_) would do.

x

"What are you watching?" Quinn asks her son as she runs a hand over his head before placing a kiss on it and squeezing Jackson's shoulder. She smiles at her maid Santana who's engrossed with the video also, so she looks over at it. Snoop dog or whatever, is blasting through the speakers and honestly, what did she expect?

"Just a music video," he answers without skipping a beat and Quinn frowns as she tilts her head. "Is that girl.. Oh my God - you're eight!"

"It's okay, mom," Nick sighs tiredly as he nudges Jackson, "It's Jackson's favorite music video and he's super smart _so_."

She hears the maid snicker (Quinn should've known she had a thing for half naked girls or just girls entirely) and Quinn glares at her, "You let them watch this?"

"I clean, not babysit, stretchmarks," Santana flicks her ponytail over her shoulder before taking her broom and leaving the room.

"Bitch," Quinn mutters quietly to herself before sighing and looking back at the screen.

"'Sup?" She hears Puck's voice and Santana say a little_ too_ sultry 'hi' back. She turns her head to find him in his underwear only and she swears on her almighty infamous slaps that he's practically living here.

"Do you always walk around in your underwear?" She snaps as she turns her back to the kids and looks at him.

"Why would you rather I not wear it at all?" He smirks and _ugh_, okay? She just really doesn't like him.

She steps closer to him and closes the door of the study behind her, sternly whispering, "Do you walk around like this at all your clients' houses or just at mine?"

He steps closer to her, too, "So," he licks his lips slowly, "You want me to take it off, Fabray?"

"I-I don't," she stammers as she leans back against the door, her heart beating rapidly, "I want you to put on _more_."

"Do you really?" He whispers, stepping even closer, his warm breath hitting her face. Up close he looks much more innocent, his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks as he looks down at her and the warmth of his body radiating over to hers. And he looks so, so good - but she reminds herself she _hates_ him so she pushes him away.

She licks her dry lips, not reelzing she was this hydrated, "How much longer do I have to suffer through this, Puck? A real answer this time, please."

"I got you begging already," he smirks as he reaches out to brush the side of her face with his hand and even worse - she lets him.

"Answer me," she whispers harshly, her throat dry - she can't risk the kids overhearing - they might draw very, very wrong conclusions.

"If I go over to IKEA to get some closets, I could be done in a week - otherwise it's going to take at least another month."

"What's the catch?"

"Well, you would need to go with me. I mean, IKEA has so _many_ options."

"I don't think so - God blessed you with vision, you can pick out a closet yourself."

"Come on, Fabray," he teases, pressing his hips against hers and she frowns, pushing him away again. He blinks a few times and God, she hates how he makes her skin tingle. "One more week, and I'll be gone. Isn't that tempting?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine, I'll go with you to that _stupid_ IKEA, if it means I'll be rid of _you_."

x

**to be continued! again, a review would be so so amazing i'd probably burst into tears of joy on the inside, ya feel me?**


	3. all i've been dreaming of lately

**thanks for all the encouraging reviews, at first i thought no one would like this but apparently a few of you do so it's worth uploading :)**

**i just applied for college and i'm still shaking because it's so scary to grow up but well, go hard or go home, right? yolo, live it up, party hard, etc. so sorry for any mistakes, i tried to read it over but i'm too nervous **

**i just finished the fault in our stars last week and i'm still crying, it's definitely a book worth reading three or four times so - check it out!**

**also, per request i changed william in to richard because to be frank with ya, i was a little creeped out myself, too, i did keep his last name schuester because i kind of forgot to change it. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

**you guys ready for some quinn and puck? ? ? ? ? i know i am!**

**chapter title is taken from closer by tegan and sara.**

x

_chapter three: all i've been dreaming of lately is how to get you underneath me_

"Do you expect me to get into that?" Quinn cocks an eyebrow as she points a finger at a half broken, beat up, torn apart van she's certainly not getting into. Over her dead body, literally - because she would probably die if she did get in it.

"Live a little, Fabray," he tells her as he opens his door and gets in.

"I can't believe this," she mutters to herself as she gives the van another once-over. She's pretty sure one of the wheels is about to fall off. How is she going to explain this in her obituary? _I just got into the car with him because I wanted to be left alone_.

He honks loudly, signaling her to hurry up. "If you don't get your sweet little ass in here right now I'm going to have to carry you in." He winks and against better judgement, she gets into the car. She clears her throat loudly as she straightens her skirt and tightens her seatbelt.

"Drive, you _moron_, you're making us late," she states dryly, refusing to look at him as he chuckles.

"Whatever you say, princess."

He starts the car and within five minutes she's considering opening up the window and jumping out. He's singing along with some top forty week old song and she's left to stare out of the window, trying to drown out the sound of his voice.

Well, actually, he has a pretty nice voice, but it's not like she would ever tell him that.

"Come on, you know you know the lyrics," he nudges her lightly and she finally looks at him.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Puckerman," she replies, crossing her arms. Fine, she does know the lyrics but it's not like she knows them voluntarily. Kurt kept blasting it when he thought she couldn't hear - figuring she had to pick her battles she let it slide.

"NEXT TO ME, OH, YOU'LL FIND HIM, FIND HIM NEXT TO ME!" He leans closer, practically yelling in her ear before she turns towards him, glaring straight through his empty soul.

"Keep. Your. Eyes. On. The. Damn. Road," she deadpans, smacking the back of his head. "I'm not trying to get killed before even hitting thirty!"

"Come on, Quinn." Her name rolls over his lips like honey and she realizes it's one of the first times he's actually called Quinn. It sounds so good she would almost consider actually sincerely calling him Puck from now on to return the pleasure.

She sighs deeply and turns to look out the window before looking back at him, just as the chorus hits.

"NEXT TO ME, OOOOH."

To be honest, she hasn't sung since high school, and to be even more honest, she hasn't felt this great since then either.

He's getting in her head, just what he freaking wanted. God, she hates him (and God, he looks so sexy when he's smiling instead of smirking).

x

Entering the IKEA, she finally comes to terms what just happened and the fact that she simply just can't let it happen again. She can't let him under her skin and she can't be one of his playthings and she can't have feelings for him. She's a mother for God's sake! And she has Richard!

"Just pick out the first closet you see. I'll be waiting in the restaurant."

"Wait," he says, taking a hold of her wrist. She quickly pulls it away because he shouldn't be touching her and she shouldn't feel so weird when he touches her. Avoid it, Quinn, like you always do. "This is IKEA - besides the meatballs - they have about two hundred different closets. What if you don't like the one I pick? We'll have to go back here, _again_."

He raises his eyebrows and she huffs, rolling her eyes, "It's a closet. I really don't care."

"Well," he licks his lips, "What about like panty drawers? How many will you need? Two, three?"

"I honestly do not care, Puck, it's not like I -"

"So you don't wear any panties?" He steps closer to her, putting one hand on her waist. "Are you not wearing any now because that's totally fucking hot."

"You're unbelievable!" She exclaims, shoving his chest as she turns around.

"I can draw this out for weeks, Fabray," she hears the amusement in his voice and as much as she would like to not give in and apply the _never let the terrorists win_-rule - she would rather just be rid of him and these feelings and mainly just _him_ - all of him.

"Fine! Six drawers!" She turns back around just in time to miss his smirk.

x

She sips on her diet coke slowly as she scrunches up her nose and watches him totally pig out on two plates of swedish meatballs.

"So," she cuts in slowly, pushing her glass away from her, "Where's Jackson's mother? He never really talks about her. Did she go to college? Did you meet her, in college, I mean?"

"What you actually mean to ask is how could a kid like him have a dad as dumb as me," he clarifies, not even looking up from his plate of meatballs or bothering to stop eating while telling her this.

"That's not - I - I didn't," she stammers her cheeks tinting pink but he shrugs, slouching back in his seat across from her as he looks at her. "It's okay."

He takes a second in between meatballs to mention, "You tell me yours I'll you mine."

She plays with her straw for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him about her past. It would only make things more complicated - once something's out it can go back in - and she didn't like complicated nor did she like messy - which it would eventually become. Then again, she would _really_ like to know what happened to Jackson's mother.

She bites her lip softly, "I went to Yale and Richard, he was my professor."

"What kind of professor?"

"Does it matter?" She asks, agitated he can't shut up for even a second (not even if he's eating).

"Well, just saying if he was your history teacher or something that'd be boring - however if he was like your sex ed teacher that'd be kind of hot."

"You're disgusting," she clarifies sternly before continueing, "He was my social studies professor and I don't know, he kind of made me feel independent in some kind of weird dependent way and I felt strong and powerful and mature and above all of the other silly little school girls and boys who obviously didn't have a clue about life because - I was living it, you know? Only I was not and I was letting myself be defined by yet another guy and then..."

A sigh spills over her lips as she tightens her grip on the glass. Why is she telling him this? She could've just told him the happy version she told her mother and colleagues over the years.

"What happened?" He's finally stopped eating for long enough to actually talk and he's looking almost intrigued.

"What always happens," she lets out a small laugh, but it doesn't really reach her eyes, "His wife found out and she slapped me and wrote some nasty messages about me on my car and then I found out I was pregnant so he left her and here we are."

"What did she write?"

"I blurt out an entire monologue about my past and you're worried about the profanity on the side of my car?"

"Yeah, like, was she one of those elite ladies who like, felt horrible about using bad words so wrote something like adulterer or was she like a crazy bitch who totally went all real fucking housewife nuts on your car and even smashed some tires?"

She rolls her eyes, clasping her hands together on top of the table, "You're not going to tell me yours until I tell you what was on the car, are you?"

"You bet your pretty ass I ain't."

"She wrote '_Lucy likes to screw my husband profusely_' all over the side and on my windshield and smashed my rear view mirrors."

"Lucy?" He downs his glass in one big gulp wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Quinn's my middle name."

"I like Quinn better," he smiles before stuffing more meatballs in his face and his eyes twinkle in this special way that just makes her stomach turn and she knows this isn't just about her _name_.

She quickly changes the subject, not even wanting to thank him (for a compliment that's only use was probably to sweet talk her enough to get her out of her pants and for him to get a good lay out of all of this - no freaking way), "You're up."

He sighs, wiping his mouth with a napkin before taking a sip of his second glass of coke, "His mom - she, I - we met when I was eighteen. She was," he clears his throat, looking away from her and outside of the window. He swallows hard, "She was sick, and her last wish was a child so - I gave it to her. We only had eleven months together. Most of it she spent in pain."

Quinn clenches her jaw, letting out a small sigh, before unclenching it again, "I'm so sorry."

"You actually believed that?" He chuckles and she knows he's not being sincere but she decides to go along with it, swallowing before leaning back in her seat. She shouldn't get too attached anyway.

"No of course not. What's the real story?" It doesn't sound like her.

"I was screwing so many woman back then one of them was bound to show up with the announcement that she had a kid that was mine," he shrugs idly before going back to his plate of food but his smirk doesn't return.

"You think you could lean me some cash for some meatballs to take home? Matter of fact, can you just pay?"

x

"Come on, Kurt! This is the third time you let them interview the wrong artist! Do you know how much money this is going to cost us?"

He shakes his head no, his expression terrified.

"Well, more than you make in a damn year, let me tell you that," she bites before slamming the door behind her and aggressively running a hand through her hair as she sits down. There was a presentation and exposition coming up that she simply couldn't screw up or she'd lose her job, her dignity and probably her right to ever work again in the art industry.

The worst part was she wasn't the one screwing it up.

She checks her phone and it turns out she has two messages.

**Noah Puckerman: i fnd a super hot dress on ur room, kp picturing u in it ;)**

She rolls her eyes, groaning inwardly as she opens up the next one.

**Noah Puckerman: well, actually i picture u out of it, wanna ditch so u can try it on for me?**

Not up for any of this, she stuffs her phone back into her purse and tries to get a few minutes to herself.

She's distracted however, when the phone rings - expecting it to be Noah (because seriously, he kept bugging her like all the time, he wouldn't leave her alone for one goddamn second. Did he not realize some people had actual jobs?) she sighs into it, "What now?"

"Hi, Ms. - Ms. Fabray," somebody stammers through the phone and she straightens her back immidiately, sitting up as she recognizes the voice as Mrs. Hudson's.

"Is, is something wrong? Did something happen to Nicholas?"

She's quiet for a moment before she takes in a deep breathe, "I'm sorry, Ms. Fabray, nothing dangerous happened but we need you to come over to our office. We have something important to discuss with you."

She nods her head, before realizing she can't see her and manages to mutter a quiet 'sure' before hanging up. Dialing Richard's number on the way towards the parking lot (and furiously throwing it in the shotgun seat when he doesn't pick up after the fourth dial) she makes her way over to the school, preparing herself for the worst.

"...it seems like his grades have been improving because he's been bribing one of the tutor's with money to copy his tests in the teacher's lounge..." Mrs. Hudson normally speaks fast but her speech is slow this time, like she thinks Quinn might crack any second.

"...also have to inform you that he seems to be a part of a small youth gang - he's been stealing phones and other technological devices and bringing them to them for a small profit."

"... nothing serious and we won't report it to the police but I do have to indicate that youth criminality often leads to adult criminality which ultimately leads to a life in prison which..."

"The school is requesting for this go along in privacy and peace and in fear of ruining the school's reputation also requests that your son finds another school before the end of the year..."

Mrs. Hudson sends her a small sympathetic smile, looking up from the paper in front of her. "We apologize but we must protect our other students, Ms. Fabray."

Quinn nods silently, only having processed half of what she said as she warily gets up from her seat. "I just - I have to go."

"Ms. Fabray, I know you probably don't want to hear this but maybe it's for the best. Nicholas has had a hard time keeping up with all the other students and maybe a different school would require his needs more -"

"Just shut up, for just, like a second, okay?" Quinn tells her, holding up a finger, after licking her dry lips before leaving her office.

She knows she shouldn't get mad at that poor teacher or at her son or at anyone for that matter and she definitely shouldn't be upset that her son was less intelligent than his peers - but it still stung and she was still angry and it still hurt like a bitch, _okay_?

x

She goes to the nearest bar - and she knows she shouldn't but honestly - she can't find herself to care right now.

Of course, Puck's there because when does she ever catch a break and sure, they're out of budweiser's beer, her favorite kind, and there's nothing else on her mind besides _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

"What're you doing here?" He takes a sip from his beer as he looks over at her and studies her. One half of her white blouse is hanging out of her pencil skirt and her hair is loose and wild and she's pretty sure her make-up's vaguely running down her cheeks. "You look terrible."

"So you do," she takes a sip of her own (a lot of sips, so many sips it's empty within seconds and she orders another one) and burps, "Then again, you always look like this."

"Ouch," he mocks hurt and smirks a little, "What has your panties in a twist, Fabray?"

"You," she spits, some beer spilling over the side of her bottle and onto her hand, "My job. Nick. _Everything_."

"Life sucks, you better face it now or misery awaits."

"He's a criminal - I mean, seriously?"

"What?"

"Nick - Nick, my baby Nick - he's in a gang!" She runs a hand through her hair, making it even more messy than it already was, "He's in a _goddamn_ gang. Where the hell did I go wrong?"

He doesn't really respond to that, just squeezes her thigh for a second. It's the first time he's touched her and it isn't sexual but actually kind of comforting. She glances over at him for a second before letting out a deep breath.

"Can you talk to him? I mean, I don't have much experience and -"

"And I do, I get it," he chuckles a little as he picks on the label on his bottle. "I can try but it usually doesn't help much. I mean, I went in and out of re-educational programmes and I still ended up in juvie."

She nods her head quietly as she stares at her beer bottle. "I just never thought... I'm smart, you know? And so is Richard, and I'm not saying I love him any less but - how? How can he be..."

Puck takes a deep breath, looking over at her. "Sometimes I wish I had a stupid son."

"Nick's not stupid -"

"Then what're you fucking bitching about?"

"Right," she states before grabbing her purse and standing up. "I'm just - going to go. Nevermind. I just - need to go home."

"You need a ride home?" He cocks an eyebrow, obviously estimating how drunk she is and how many people she'll kill if she drives.

"I'll just walk," she tells him. "I'm fine."

He nods his head and when she turns around he puts one hand on her arm, "Quinn.. Nick's not stupid and honestly, he's like really fucking smart. He's _people _smart. I can tell."

She carefully nods before moving towards the door, his hand leaving her arm like his smile has left an imprint in her head (playing over and over and over in her dreams).

"I'm fine," she keeps repeating with every step home. "I'm_ fine_."

x

**again, a review would mean the frigging world to me, ya feel me?**


	4. now what can you be looking at me for

**by the looks of it, this story is going to have about twelve chapters!**

**question: do you guys want actual smut because i usually leave that open to suggestion and shit because it makes me kind of uncomfortable so**

**per request more future step-child bonding, also things seem to progress between quinn and puck a little in this chapter ;)**

**title is from wrong feels so right by carly rae jepsen.**

x

_chapter four: now what can you be looking at me for_

"You are grounded," Quinn sneers, half drunk and half aware she shouldn't be doing this while being the former. "No games, no videos, no tv - nothing."

Nick doesn't even look up from his hands in his lap as he nods his head and she knows he's about to cry and she's too and Richard's looking at her like she's some kind of monster and she's not - but she just wants the best for him, you know?

x

She slips into bed, still half wasted and shimmies out of her clothes under the covers. She feels terrible, probably looks terribly, too, but everything's slipping out of her fingers and that's not like her at all. Quinn Fabray is always in control so she needs to take it back into her hands.

Richard comes out half an hour later, muttering something about the newest book he's about the publish and she just nods before she kisses him, her hand trailing down his chest.

He stops her within a few seconds though, says goodnight and turns onto his side.

So much for control.

x

He wakes up around eleven a.m. because of a phone call, muttering, "Who the fuck calls this time in the morning?" before picking up and sitting up in his bed.

"Hello?" He grunts, obviously pissed off.

"Mr. Puckerman, hello," a female clears her throat, "This is Emma Pillsbury from social services."

"What's up?" He stands up and opens his curtains, wincing from the sudden light as he scratches the back of his head.

She takes a deep breath, sounds a little sad as she announces, "We just had a team meeting, Mr. Puckerman, and I'm sorry to inform you that if you don't take drastic actions soon, Jackson will be placed into a foster family."

"What do you mean, foster family? He, he's just a little kid, he needs his father," Puck responds, shaking his head lightly, suddenly wide awake.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you're not providing enough security for your son. You live in a one bedroom apartment, have no steady job and we've been informed that he shares lunch with one of his friends at school because you can't afford lunch nor breakfast," Emma hesitates, before adding, "You have about two weeks, Mr. Puckerman, that's it. That's all I managed to get."

"Two weeks?" He asks, incredulously, as he grips onto the phone tightly, "Two weeks? Do you know I've been looking for a job for over two years now? I just get small ones here and there, but once a house is done, it's done. Besides, no company wants to hire me with my background."

"I know, sir, but some things, they're worth fighting for and I know you can do it," she says with not so much certainty in her voice and he's used to it. No one in his entire life has ever believed in him.

"Yeah, well, how do I fight against my fucking past? In case you didn't know, I can't really change it."

He can practically hear her sympathetic smile through the phone.

x

He shows up two (or more, it's 4 p.m. and they never agreed on an actual time) hours late to his 'job' but it's not like anyone actually notices. The _Schabray_ apartment is so big he could house an entire Mexican family on one side of it and no one would even notice.

He sighs, as he rubs his eyes. He's hungover and tired and stressed because Jackson - he's practically everything he has, everything he cares about.

Sure, he's been selfish in the past and he wasn't always around, but he promised himself he wouldn't be like his own douchebag father and he's going to keep that promise. He just needs to find someone who'll have a little faith in him.

He passes Nick's bedroom on his way to the bathroom next to the master bedroom (he's been stalling the work there just so Quinn would have to walk in her towel to the second bathroom on the other side of the apartment) and sees him sitting on his bed, sadly staring at the floor.

He's about to just pass, because it's none of his fucking business, you know, but then he remembers Quinn's words. He remembers feeling like him, stupid and dumb, and he knew how easy it was to feel that way (especially when your mom wasn't so shy about hiding it).

He knocks on the door lightly before entering.

"'Sup, man?" He sits down across from him in a office chair and leans back, quite enjoying the way the things like turns around and tries it out a few times before realizing he's about to have a serious talk. No time to fuck around.

Nick clears his throat, not looking up as he shrugs. "Jackson's not here, if you're looking for him. He's out with my mom doing groceries."

"Why didn't you go?"

He shrugs again and Puck sighs, leaning forward on his knees as he scoots his chair forward. He hates serious shit.

"My mom hates me."

"No, she doesn't, she's just worried about you," Puck offers because, shit, he's not good at this sort of shit and he knows it and he should've just told Quinn that right away.

"Right," he says bitterly as he finally looks up and Puck sees it flash in front if his green eyes. This hatred, this anger that'll only end becoming worse over the years if he continues like this. He knows from his own experience that when you have those feelings at this age, it won't do you much good over the years.

"Look, you're mom can be a bitch, but mom's are all bitches," he tells him, deciding to just do this his way, and Nick's head snaps up, looking at him with wide eyes. Well, go hard or go home, right? "I mean, they are... _bitches_ because they're moms. They care about you, - and they don't want to see you get hurt and they want you to have the best life you can, to have a better life _than_ them and they love you. That's why the bitch and whine and moan and do all that shit all the time."

"Well, she's a bitch to you, too, I mean you always fight," Nick offers, and damn, this kid _is_ smart.

"That's because she cares," Puck smirks a little, nodding his head in approval at his own revelation. "And don't say bitch."

"B-but," he stammers but Puck quickly cuts him off.

"Why did you do all that bad sh- stuff?" His gaze softens into a more serious one (one he recognizes from Quinn honestly - it's one of her eww-scary-serious ones) and Nick looks away once again.

"I-I don't know."

"Look, I do know. I know how it feels when you do something like that. It makes you feel grown up and smart and like you're worth something, you know?" Puck says and Nick frowns as he bites back, "How would _you_ know?"

"I was the same as you. It started when I was about eleven. At first it was just small crimes, some light shoplifting, stealing a few purses from the synagogue, gluing people's furniture to their roof, but it escalated. It always does. No matter how many times you look at those big guys with the tattoos who've been kicked out of schools and smile to yourself because you won't be that guy, you have control, you know when to stop - it always escalates," Puck licks his dry lips while observing Nick. He has an awful look of recognition on his face and Puck wished he hadn't.

"You meet the wrong people because you're already in the wrong world. By the time I was eighteen, my mom had kicked me out and I'd been in and out of juvie and I didn't even graduate. You can only tell yourself so many times that you don't care about all that shit - graduation and family and friends. By the time I had Jackson and was supposed to be an adult - I had been to jail at least four times. No longer than a few months at a time but Jackson didn't deserve that. And no matter how much you try not to have collateral damage, not to let people come close, they do no matter what," Puck urges on as he sighs and pauses.

"You're a kid, you shouldn't be doing things like this - you, you should be a kid," he tries to convince the younger dude who just shakes his little blonde head.

"I don't mean to do it."

"I know. Just - don't be like me, okay? When you say you can stop, don't keep saying you can, do so. Actions are better than words."

Nick swallows before a small smile appears on his lips, "I don't really think I could go with the mohawk anyway."

Puck chuckles, hesitating, before reaching out and patting his shoulder.

"You're a funny little dude."

x

He finishes the bathroom that day (after making Nick promise he wouldn't tell Quinn about their conversation), because he did tell her he'd be done within a week and honestly, she might murder him soon.

He walks into the kitchen to get himself something to drink when he spots Quinn with a glass of wine and a half empty bottle on the table. _Oh shit_.

"Fabray."

"Puckerman."

"You getting drunk again or staying drunk?" He cocks an eyebrow as he pours himself a glass of coke and sits down across from her.

"None of your business," she snaps, emptying her glass in one gulp.

"Nick is doing okay, by the way, if you were wondering," he leans his elbows on the table as he stares her down, she doesn't look away.

"I wasn't. I saw him this morning. He looked fine," she states coldly as she pours herself another glass.

He moves his chair closer to hers, leaning just a little closer, as he smirks, "You don't have to keep pretending like you hate me, Q, I know you're attracted to me."

She lets out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Now _why_ would I be attracted to someone like you? You have no job, you're an awful father, you treat women like absolute _shit," _she narrows her eyes, knowing she shouldn't be talking in this state but continues anyway, "You're a loser, Puck, why would I ever want to be with _you_?"

He huffs lightly, clenching his jaw as he sits back against his chair. "I knew you were a bitch but I didn't think you were this cold. I mean, yesterday you were begging for me to help your son and now you're... like _this_."

The words keep coming out of her mouth and she can't seem to stop her lips from moving. "Well, it was a mistake. If anything, you'll make him end up _just_ like you."

"Wouldn't want that, huh?" He gets up from his chair, shaking his head at her as he yanks his jacket from the chair. He suddenly has a raging urge to get drunk.

Jackson suddenly appears into view and he looks a little taken aback, a little too informed. Quinn's gaze softens and Puck walks over to him, kneeling down a little. "You're staying over another night, okay? I'll pick you up from school tomorrow." He kisses his head before slamming the door on his way out.

Quinn sighs as she looks over at Jackson. "Do you think I'm a terrible mom?"

He shrugs, his brown honest eyes reminding her of his father. "A terrible mom is always better than no mom."

Tears spring in her eyes as she nods, leaning over to hug him. "I'm so sorry, Jackson."

"That's okay, Mrs. Fabray, I still have you."

She squeezes him a little tighter, then, just a little.

x

It's three a.m. and she has this huge presentation to prepare at work tomorrow and she's so tired already and there's freaking music coming from the maid's place that's keeping her up. She pokes Richard three times, but he's, of course, asleep and she doesn't want the kids to wake up.

Sighing angrily, she puts on a robe and storms upstairs, knocking on the door but when there's no answer she opens it. She screams loudly, finding her maid's bare ass staring straight back at her, and underneath there's one Noah Puckerman.

"This is unbelievable," she shakes her head, before yanking the radio out of the plug socket and shielding her eyes from the horrible view on her left with the other hand. "Some people are trying to sleep," she states as she hears people scrambling around for their clothes and a few cuss words.

"Sorry, Ms. Fabray," she hears Santana clear her voice but she doesn't really sound sorry. She can practically hear Puck smirk.

"Goodnight," she tells them firmly, closing the door behind her and it's safe to say she should've just let them keep the music on (spoiler alert: Santana's loud moans really weren't an improvement).

x

"Do you want some more orange juice, Jackson?" She asks him as she pours Nicholas another glass, sending him a smile. She has to apologize for her drunken behaviour one way or another, right?

"So," Puck comes in, clearing his throat as he takes an apple from the table and takes a large bite out of it. Continuing with his mouth full, "I finished the bathroom yesterday so all there's left is the master bedroom and a part of the living room but that'll be done in no time."

"Good," Quinn sighs, relieved. If he's around her any longer, she might drive herself mad. Nobody has ever pissed her off this much and she knows from experience that's not good because when there's passion, there's feelings and she certainly doesn't want any of those.

"Where's Santana?" He asks, taking another bite off his apple and leaning back against the counter.

Quinn colors a little at the mention of her maid and tries to ignore him but he keeps staring her down.

Finally, Nick answers for her, "Mom fired her."

"Did you, now?" Puck asks, his smirk growing with the second.

It's not like she was jealous, really. Santana had been late a few times and she kept finding dust on the top shelves off everything and that was just simply inexcusable. She refuses to look at him because her stomach might do that weird flipping thing again.

She clears her throat, "She wasn't very good at her job." After that she quickly fills her mouth with whatever she can find, as long as she doesn't have to talk.

"_Mhmm_," he responds knowingly and she can't for the life of her turn back to her normal skin color.

x

He finds her in the living room, trying to enjoy her book and somehow it slips out of his mouth.

"I got a call from my social worker. She says I need to get a job within the next week and a half or they'll take Jackson."

She puts her book down, biting down on her lip and there's this look on her face. Like she actually feels something, and it's the first time ever that somebody isn't feeling sorry for him - but just gives him a look of comfort, you know?

He sits down next to her and her hand lands on his, squeezing softly and looks into her eyes (these pretty green eyes he likes a lot), she looks back at him (into his nice brown eyes she _hates_ a lot) and suddenly he's leaning in and he just wants to kiss her once, one time will be enough because she's just so beautiful and smart and even though she's cold on the outside she's warm on the inside, he just knows. And then so is she, leaning in, because his damn face is luring her in, his warm breath on her face and those damn eyes staring into hers and her stomach does that turning thing again and - and one little kiss won't hurt, right?

Then suddenly she's pulling her hand back and holding up her book in front of her face. He leans back, disappointed.

"I hope it works out," she mutters from behind her book - something with _stars_ and _faults_ and her eyes trying to look busy but he knows they're not. He knows she feels something for him, too, he knows it when she looks at him just a second too long and when he catches her staring while he works and when they touch and linger and he feels it, so she does, too, she _has_ to, and she can't keep denying that, right? _Right_?

"Me too."

x

**we almost had a little kiss there! definitely to be continued soon, promise! here's a poem: reviews are kisses from god's angels onto my face and ice cream on hot summer days and finding your way out of a maze ;)**


	5. and i kinda know i won't get far

**thank 4 reviews! ! ! love u s0 many**

**song is by the amazeballin' taylor swift and is called sparks fly, yeehah!**

x

_chapter five: but i kinda know that i won't get far_

So he's just chilling and enjoying his beer when he feels the instant need to roundhouse kick Richard in the face with a car or like, a skyscraper if that was possible.

Okay, so maybe he did edge Richard into that date with that crazy Bambi eyed chick and maybe he did urge him into cheating on Quinn, but he didn't actually expect him to do it. That was just _dumb_.

He's not going to lie, he's done his fair share of cheating but Quinn was the kind of girl you just _didn't_ cheat on. Richard should still be thanking his fucking lucky stars on his knees everyday for even getting to be with someone like Quinn when he was ripe for a fucking nursing home.

So yeah, when he so casually mentions it over a beer like he's _accomplished_ something - he just kind of wants to torture him and physically drain him and slowly kill him. He doesn't, because he obviously means a lot to Quinn and he doesn't like want to upset her.

(He likes to rile her up and get her cheeks all flushed and her eyes this darker green than her normal pretty green but he wouldn't like to see her like cry or something - he hates it when chicks cry.)

"Thanks to you I'm back to_ loving_ woman, I appreciate their bodies again and I never thought I could ever again."

Is this guy for real? Because he's shits you not, but Quinn has one of the hottest bodies ever known to mankind and even if she didn't - her face is like seriously so pretty and she's so smart and gentle and strong and _good_ (and he thinks he might like her little bit more than he realized himself).

"Emma - I think she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, Puck."

Instead of cussing him out he decides to just tightly nod, his jaw clenched as he dumps his beer in the sink and excuses himself. He shouldn't punch his boss - that'll get on his permanent record and that'll cause him to lose Jackson and he just shouldn't punch anyone to start with. He just gets really mad sometimes when it comes to things like these (little shitheads hurting people he really, _really_ cares about) and he doesn't need to get into any deeper shit than he already is.

The problem is he might be a cheater, too, but he's not a liar.

x

Her big presentation is coming up and there's so much work to do. She needs to hire a caterer and she needs to get that one Van Gogh here because for _some_ reason it's still in Italy and she needs to find a brand of champagne that will go with her theme because the taste can influence your taste in art she's seen studies on that and she still needs to find a damn dress that doesn't make her look like an underaged, underexperienced _girl_ - yet her mind keeps drifting off to Puck and why the hell he's been avoiding her like no tomorrow.

She's not stupid, they almost locked lips there a few days ago and she's a little scared she would've liked it, too - but that doesn't mean things should be awkward between them and it definitely doesn't mean he needs to avoid and ignore her. They're _professionals_. They know nothing could ever happen between them and there's no way it ever will (she ignores the little pang in her chest she feels when she thinks about that).

She cuts out early that day to try and catch him off guard so they can talk it over. She likes talking and the clarity it brings with it and she likes clarity because she likes knowing exactly where she stands which is good when she has to deal with the whole wanting to be in control all the time thing she has. So yes. Talking it is.

She spots him under the radiator and when she calls out his name, it's safe to say he didn't really expect her because next thing she knows she's cleaning up the cut on his forehead he caused by banging his head into the thing.

He's perched on top of the counter as she not so carefully dabs the blood of his forehead.

"Who the hell bangs their head into a radiator?"

"Who the hell walks in without a warning?"

"I called your name - that was the warning!"

He rolls his eyes and the yelp he lets out because she dabs just a little bit harder satisfies her just enough.

"Don't rub so hard!"

"Don't move your head!"

He lets out a deep sigh as he steadies himself by putting his hands on her waist (there's no tingles running up her back, she promises herself, just a slight shiver - it's very cold in here). She frowns as she stops cleaning his forehead and tilts his face up to look into his eyes. They look dull and tired and she misses that spark in his eyes (just a _little_).

"Are you okay? Or are you feeling lightheaded? Do you need to lay down?'

"You sure do care a lot for someone who doesn't care," he smirks a little, just a tiny bit before wincing again and reaching for his forehead.

She smacks his hand away, "Don't touch it!" She huffs in annoyance, clarifying, "I _don't_ care, I would just rather save myself a drive to the hospital."

"Sure," he retorts not sounding so convinced but she doesn't feel like arguing, not right now. She continues cleaning his cut, making sure he doesn't need stitches, luckily it's not _that _deep.

He's quiet after (besides a spiteful 'ouch' here and there) that and so is she, even though she wants to ask him a thousand questions she probably shouldn't get into. If he wants to avoid her that should be fine, she shouldn't care - like he said, she _doesn't_ care.

She's Quinn Fabray, though, so she does anyway.

"You've been avoiding me," she states, biting down on her lip as she takes out a bandage and starts to cut it into the proper size for that egghead of his.

"Maybe," he says simply, not even bothering to explain as he starts to reach up with his hand, _again_. She smacks it away, _again_, and tries to look at him. He won't look back at her which is _really_ frustrating.

"Maybe? May I ask _why_ you've been avoiding me?" She asks, gently putting the bandage on his forehead and for a moment she lets one of her hands trail of to the side of his face.

"No, you may not," he sighs as he finally looks up at her. He takes her hand in his and squeezes slightly before she quickly pulls it away - like she just touched fire. (Maybe she did, because his tan skin is so warm compared to hers and she likes it too much so she just tries to refrain from just touching him at all.)

"Uhm, I - why not? Did I do something or was it that thing that ha-happened a few days ago because I don't want to lead you on or some-anything..." she stumbles on her words as she looks up at him and he just gets this look in his eyes, like he knows something, like he's guilty and she _needs_ to know. Her cheeks color even though she doesn't want them to.

"Don't flatter yourself, Fabray," he grins, "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Are you sure? Because you _have_ been doing everything in your power to not see or talk to me."

He sighs again and gets off the counter as he shrugs into his jacket, his voice low and soft, "My shift is over, Quinn. I'm not obligated to talk to you anymore." And he doesn't mean it like that, even though it sounds like a harsh thing to say but somehow everything that comes from his mouth in that tone sounds sweet and caring and not harsh or mean at all.

She nods tightly, leaning back against the counter. "Whatever."

"Whatever," he repeats, smirking as he salutes her before taking off towards the front door.

She's more confused than she was before and for once in her life, words just don't cut it for her. Not with eyes and _looks_ like his.

x

She tries to have sex with Richard - because she needs to prove she still wants him and no one else and she just really - wants sex. (It's not finding Puck shirtless everywhere for the past few weeks, or the way his black v-necks stretch across his broad chest and it's definitely not his arms, she doesn't like muscles anyway so it's surely not him. It must be something like her upcoming period and hormones or something. Yes. Definitely.)

Richard, however, tries really hard to pretend he doesn't know what she's up to and keeps turning away and avoiding her gaze and what the hell? Was he not attracted her or something? Maybe he was suffering from erectile dysfunction - it's common at his age and considering they haven't had...

"I'm leaving you."

So it's _not_ an erectile dysfunction.

"Excuse me?" She starts laughing at first as she tightens her robe around herself and turns the lights back on. "You're what?"

He starts out with guilty, pitiful eyes and ends up with this rare twinkle, the same one he had when he just met her. "I'm leaving you. I met a woman, her name's Emma and she asked me to move in with her. It's simply an offer I can't refuse. I think she's the one, Quinn."

She's literally gasping for air by now as she wipes away a stray tear from the laughing. She takes out a suitcase and starts filling it with his clothes. When he asks if she's okay, she sharply turns towards him with a tight smile, zips up the suitcase and hands it to him.

"A woman? Seriously, Richard? Couldn't it at least have been a man? That would've been less predictable."

"Quinn.."

"No, Richard, you've made your decision. I guess it's true what they say. Once a cheater, always a cheater," she pauses, shaking her head to herself, "In five years when you've grown tired of her - you'll have met another, possibly younger someone and that one will too go through the exact same thing as we've all gone through," she states as she opens up the door for him. "Me, your new girl, your ex-wife."

"I don't know what to say," he stammers softly as he looks up at her, suitcase in hand, still dressed in his silk pajamas she genuinely hates but for his sake never said she did because he loves them so much. She hates them. She hates him for doing this to her.

"So don't," she bites before slamming the door in his face and crawling under her covers and that's where (in a bed she used to share with Richard who she thought she should be able to trust and love and spend her life with) she lets herself cry (only once, she tells herself). It hurts and she doesn't even know why.

It's not like her and Richard had the most loving relationship in the history of time, but she did love him and he hurt her, so badly, and she should've known better and now she's all alone and Nick - God, Nick.

What is she going to do now?

x

"You and the old man had a fight last night?" Puck asks jokingly as he pours himself a cup of coffee and studies her tired, make-up less face. She probably looks like someone died - her hair wild and her eyes red with bags underneath them and her expression just has _death_ written all over it.

She yanks the pot of freshly made coffee out of his hand and pours herself a cup as she rubs her eyes with her free hand.

"Nicholas has an appointment at the dentist, I'll take Jackson so he can get a check-up, too, and after that I'll take them to the natural history museum like I promised them - Richard was supposed to take them but," she pauses, swallowing hard as she turns her back to him and opens up the fridge even though she's not hungry. "He left last night."

"Oh," Puck says and he doesn't sound surprised. So that's what that look was about. "_Sucks_."

"Yeah," she huffs dryly with a small smile and he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder.

"He's a fucking idiot, Q. I mean - who would ever let _you_ go?"

Does he have to do this? Call her Q and make her smile and make her feel better when all she wants is to crawl back into bed or onto the couch and pig out on chocolate and feel sorry for herself. She wants to feel bad for a week or so, not worse for feeling better so soon.

"The other chick's totally ugly. She has the whole ginger thing going on," Puck nods determinedly as he scrunches his nose, "Plus she reminds me of Bambi which is totally freaky as fuck when your in bed with her because all you'll probably see is a deer getting shot."

She laughs a little as she stands on her tiptoes and places a kiss on his cheek before she chickens out. "Thank you."

"No problem," he smiles and she realizes she really likes it when he does that - it makes her feel all funny and light and _itchy_ - like she knows something new is coming and still she doesn't want it to come but also wants it to, anyway and she can feel the itch. Or something - she might be just turning totally mad.

He yawns, taking out a croissant, carelessly mentions, "It's not your fault, Q, I promise. He's just suffering from dementia, forgot all about how amazing you are."

She blushes, a small, tiny smile stretching across her face (her lips still tingling from the feel of his skin), turning away from him again, "Thank you. Honestly."

x

She takes the kids to a museum about some ancient as fuck shit but he decides to tag along anyway because somehow sending out an emotionally unstable woman with two kids into New York City sounds less appealing than a few hours of boredom. (And he likes spending time with Jackson and Nick and _Quinn_)

"Oh," she's all excited as she drags them along to a display featuring dead butterflies and her and Jackson emerge into a conversation about their wings and texture and colors and soon he's at a vending machine with Nick choosing between skittles or a twinkie.

"Skittles," they both say at the same time and Puck nods his head approvingly as he bumps fists with him.

He sits down on a bench with Nick that's for old people or something, _whatever_, and shares the skittles with him as they look over at Quinn and Jackson - still wildly enthusiastically discussing dead _butterflies._

"Is she always like this?"

"Sometimes. She likes old stuff and art and stuff. I know she wants me to like it, too, but I don't, really, anyway," Nick says as he munches down on another handful of skittles.

"That's cool. Jackson's into all of that stuff too but me not so much. I like music but that's all the art you'll ever see me liking," Puck retorts as he watches Quinn laugh at something Jackson says and he's quite enjoying this view of her and his son.

"Music's rad, I wish I could play an instrument - one time I wrote this song called meatballs after my grandma Judy's meatballs but I don't know how to make the actual music sound good."

"I can teach you guitar if you'd like to, it's not that hard," Puck replies as he finally tears his eyes away from Quinn. He bumps his shoulder into Nick's. "Whaddya say, bro?"

"Cool!"

When they walk home and Nick and Jackson are happily chatting on about dead stuff and music and shit, Quinn grips onto his arm and leans closer.

"Thank you, for making this easier on him - he didn't take it so well when I told him about Richard but he's smiling and that's because of you, so thank you," she says quietly, her eyes still on the kids before she looks at him.

He nods, smiles a little and she leans away from him, not saying another word for the rest of their walk.

She doesn't let go of his arm until they reach her apartment, though.

x

Everything's going good - great, actually, so great her boss has already offered her a new position and the evening has only just started.

That is, until she spots him (making out against a four-hundred-thousand dollar painting) with _Santana_. That whore. (Him, not Santana, although she did carry around a lot of cash money)

"What are you doing here?" She hisses as she takes him by the arm and pulls him towards a more secluded place. He smells like beer and night and man and she hates this, this version of him.

"Are you jealous?" He looks amused and sure, when she first saw him she was a little jealous but then she realized how her actual clients we're looking at him making noise and practicing an awful lot of pda and how she didn't harbor _any_ feelings for him whatsoever and she wasn't anymore. Now she was just pissed.

"What are you doing here?" She repeats sternly as she straightens her black dress, trying to calm down and keep her voice a slow as possible.

"I had a night off, thought I'd check out this joint, see what the fuss is about," he smirks jokingly and she only narrows her eyes more, if possible.

"This is not a joke to me, Noah!"

"Woah, calm down, we're only looking at some dull ass paintings that are _seriously_ overpriced," he leans back against a wall and she shakes her head, frowning before she turns away from him and stalks back to the main room.

He follows her though, and this time he grabs her arm. "Quinn, wait -"

"No," she states, her eyes dark and ready for blood, "Your soul, it's filled with alcohol and vulgarity, Puck - you, you.. It worries me."

He huffs a little, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't worry about mine, I worry about yours."

With that, she takes a bottle of champagne from the nearest waiter before storming outside and _shit_, what just happened?

x

**no beta sorry for any mistakes! ! ! ! ! next chapter is going to be explosive if that's the right word for it. major quinn and puck there. a review would be like candy for my eyes :) :) :) :) :) :)**


	6. funny you're the broken one

**to clear up any confusion over the last chapter: quinn just made a comment about puck being a bad guy and thus having a "bad soul" but he answered with the fact that he can handle himself and does not worry about himself but about hers because she's hurt over richard but won't let herself hurt over it and he's trying to help her but instead she continues to push him away. i'm so sorry - i should've made that more clear. i feel like such a douchebag.**

**i had a really hard time writing this because of the m-rated part which is not super long but i was debating on just leaving things open to suggestion or not which i didn't eventually. i hope it's good enough if not, then, well that'll be really awkward i guess? ?**

**also, sorry for the shortness but the next chapter will definitely be longer :)**

**thanks for the reviews anyway :)**

**song's stay by rihanna and mikky ekko.**

x

_chapter six: funny you're the broken one but i'm the only one who needed saving_

He finally finds her outside by herself. He blows Santana off with some lame excuse about a mole on his head he needs to get checked out immediately or something (he doesn't even remember, to be honest, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind).

He thinks she knew where he was going anyway though, but she has no right to judge him or give him strange looks. He's just checking up on his son's best friend's mom. It's no big deal. Honestly.

When he gets closer he sees she's crying. It's not the sad, silent kind which you try to hide but it's the actual gross full on sobbing kind and when she sees him she does everything but hide it.

"Sorry," he offers in a mumble, he's not good at these things and he's not sure if he's even apologizing for anything he did wrong.

"He's such a douchebag," she chokes out, tears rolling down her cheeks and staining them with mascara.

He nods dumbly as he realizes he's still holding a bottle of champagne (someone alcohol always did the trick for him when he felt well, like sobbing) and he puts it down on a table near them.

"I'm twenty-seven," she cries out, sending him a desperate look, "That's not old. I'm not past my expiration date yet. I'm young for Christ's sake."

He doesn't know why, but when he sees her cry like this, hurt like this - he _hurts_ himself even when he tries not to (and he also wants to punch Richard but that's a different feeling). He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder, not wanting to overstep any boundaries or anything, because no matter how big of a douchebag he is, he's not about to take advantage of a vulnerable woman. (Or worse, piss off an already pissed off as fuck woman.)

She grabs his hand though and steps closer to him, a few silent tears falling down her face that he can't help but wipe away. She lets out another sob before burying her head in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly. He hesitatingly puts his arms around her, holding her close as he wonders how he's ever going to talk himself out of this one. He can't explain this, this feeling he has whenever he's around her - like he wants to protect her, keep her safe and make her happy and like _that's_ the only thing that'll make him happy.

They stay like that for a few moments while she cries and he tries to tell her it'll be okay (but he doesn't because what does he know?) before she pulls away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I will castrate you."

He smiles, because this is the Quinn he knows and.. cares about.

"You're welcome."

She smiles back, grabbing the bottle of champagne and nodding towards the building.

"Wanna do something fun?"

x

He doesn't know what her definition of fun means exactly, but he's figuring it's something along the lines of getting hammered and throwing empty glasses down the stairs of her prestige museum.

"Quinn? Are you okay?" He asked, concerned as she threw an empty bottle of whiskey down the stairs, letting out a small squeal of victory as it hit the floor.

"I'm fine," she laughs, almost stumbling over her own feet before leaning into him as she squeezes his cheeks together before handing him a glass of champagne.

"Quinn, I don't thi-"

"Call me, Q," she smiles brightly, her eyes lazy as she raises her own glass and gulps it down, before opening up the second bottle of champagne and pouring herself another glass. She always liked it when he called her Q, it made her feel_ special_. (_She would bet you two van Gogh's and one Picasso he didn't call Santana Q_)

"Okay... _Q_ - I don't think it's a good idea if we both dr-"

"Drink up!" She tells him urgently as she frowns and with a sigh he puts the glass to his lips.

"Good boy," she smiles widely, patting his head as he empties the glass. "Now take me home, carpenter!"

x

By the time they reach her apartment, he's wasted as fuck. He can't even see straight and the second bottle of whiskey she opens when they're in her livingroom really don't help with any of it. He's getting a major headache.

She laughs, sitting down on the couch next to him before putting her head on his lap and spreading out her limbs. "I can see the stars."

"We're indoors," he replies, looking up at the ceiling anyway before bursting out in a chuckle.

"You're funny," she says lazily with a grin on her face before her eyes light up. She jumps up, and pulls on his hand, "I want to show you something, come on."

He doesn't really protest as he follows her, looking around her apartment and suddenly noticing all of these new things.

There's a tuba on the wall next to Nick's room and there's like this really weirdly colored painting on the wall across from Quinn and Richard's - well, Quinn's room - and wait - he kind of really hates Richard, he realizes now and huh, where is he? He doesn't remember walking here?

Quinn giggles as she reminds him she wanted to show him something and oh, yeah, he must've been talking out loud. He forgot he could talk.

"You wanted to show me your bed?" He raises his eyebrows, a confused look on his face when he suddenly feels a pair of lips on his. He doesn't remember anyone else being in the room so it must be Quinn. (He peeks through one eye to be sure, though)

She pulls away and he opens his eyes to see her smiling (smiling so beautifully he feels his heart pounding in his chest and his headache doesn't feel that bad anymore) as she falls back onto her bed.

He kind of wants to kiss her again so he falls down on her bed next to him, but her eyes are closed, and what if she's like dead or something man? He doesn't want to kiss a dead Quinn because then he would have to call an ambulance or something.

Then he remembers that one movie Jackson liked so much, sleeping beauty or some shit, and maybe she's just sleeping and she does look like a beauty so he leans in and kisses her anyway. She kisses him back though, so he can say for sure she's not dead.

(And then he kisses her for a really long time, just _because_ she's not dead.)

Her hands find his shirt as she tugs on it roughly, wanting to be closer to him. He sighs into her mouth, because kissing her feels really good and he just _doesn't_ want to stop. He has to, at one point though and they momentarily take their lips off each other to breathe.

He takes the back of his shirt near his neck and pulls it off as she takes his cue and shimmies out of her own dress. She's quietly damning herself for wearing such a tight one because it takes that much longer. His eyes roam her body and to be honest, it's never felt this good to be the object of one's affection.

He takes off his pants and crawls back on top of her, kissing her mouth, first, then moves on to her neck and lastly, her collarbone before moving her bra straps over her shoulders and down her arms.

He then looks up at her face and she nods desperately as he unclips her bra behind her back. He continues placing kisses down her collarbone before moving downwards, making sure to kiss in between her breasts and each one of them before moving onto her stomach. She lets out a small moan as his fingers move to the rim of her panties and she tugs him back up, connecting their lips as she presses her chest against his.

Something about his skin on hers feels _so_ good.

His thumbs hook under the thin material of her pink panties and she whimpers a little as he pulls them off slowly before looking back up at her with a small grin. She returns the smile as his hand move over her sides towards her back, pulling her up and flush against him. He kisses her, once, twice before his tongue slips into her mouth and battles for dominance with hers.

Her hand moves down his chest, slipping into his boxers as he gasps a little, pulling away from their kiss and leaning his head against her cheek, his warm breath against her neck. She slowly starts moving her hand up and down before deciding his boxers are in the way and demanding him to take them off.

They fall back onto the bed, and she kisses him before pleadingly muttering something that sounds like, "_Please_."

He rolls them over, gazing into her eyes as he slowly fills her. He groans a little and gently starts moving back and forth allowing her body to adjust to his size. She raises her hips a little, making sure he can move deeper and she lets out a small moan.

He grabs her hands and holds them on either side of her head, locking their fingers together as he presses his lips against the side of her mouth.

Which each slow trust her body gradually climbs higher and higher. "Faster," she manages to whisper and he speeds up, pushing her further to edge as he looks into her eyes. His brown eyes have never looked so dark and she wonders if she looks like that, lustful and a little drunk but still so connected and - _aware_.

He groans and the sound he makes throws her over the edge as she lets go, throwing her head back as she lets out a moan. It's the most intense feeling she's ever had. He watches her fall apart before finding his own release.

He pulls out of her, rolling onto his back as he tries to steady his breathing. She presses her body against his, trying to do so herself, as he pulls the covers over them and puts his arm around her.

"This wasn't just a hook-up, was it?" she whispers into his neck softly after a moment, and he turns to look at her, but her eyes are closed and it seems like she's already half asleep.

"No," he whispers back into the darkness and he's pretty sure he means it, too.

x

**please, please, please review and tell me what you thought. this was so hard for me to write but i hope i'm a better writer because of it and for you to showcase even the smallest signs that you liked it or even if you have some constructive criticism.. it'd be great. honestly.**


	7. from my arms you may be out of reach

**sorry for the wait - school and work have been killing me! ! ! thanks for the lovely reviews, i'll keep it short this time because i don't wanna bore you guys with lame excuses :)**

**song is by the supremes, come see about me.**

x

_chapter seven: from my arms you may be out of reach_

Shit. She wakes up with the worst headache she's ever had and the worst part is she doesn't know why. It's then she remembers her art presentation at work last night and the fact she had a few drinks with Puck before... before what exactly?

How did she get home and what happened and she swears on her son Nicholas's life that if she screwed up her presentation she'll hurt herself - did she screw it up?

She sits up, putting a hand on her forehead and looking around her room. Everything seems relatively normal, so at least she didn't set anything on fire or bring her boss home or something. That'd be weird.

She gets out of bed, her toes hitting the cold floor and sending a shiver up her spine as she realizes she's butt naked. There's a sore feeling in between her legs that she hasn't had since - oh no. Oh no. _Oh no_!

She's praying to God she was just feeling hot last night and decided to get naked before getting in her bed and maybe she rode a bike? She hasn't done that in like five years so that must be it, yep. She rode a bike home and then she got undressed because it was so, so hot. She had wanted to ask Puck to fix the air conditioning anyway. Right.

She lets out a big sigh as she gets up, wrapping the sheets around herself before pulling out a fresh pair of panties and slipping into them. She quickly puts on a bra and slips into a flowery sundress before deciding to make herself some breakfast. Her fingers sneak under her dress to fix her panties and she winces a little.

_Damn bike_.

"A little sore, Fabray?" Her head snaps up, eyes wide, as she finds Noah Puckerman of all people standing there half naked.

"No, no," she tells him firmly, squirming under his gaze as all the alarms in her head go off. She licks her lips, scratching her arm nervously as she asks him, "Did you, I mean, did you come back with Satan? I mean, Santana?"

She _did_ still live above them.

"No, we broke-up. Think she's into girls," he responds idly with a shrug, pulling on the white wife beater he had in his hands. (Quinn pretends that's an improvement from his sweet, sweet abs)

"We," she hesitates, about to scratch her own eyeballs out because of the agony of the unknowing feeling in the pit of her stomach, when she looks up at him, his brown eyes into her green orbs - the memories come flooding back like a waterfall.

His eyes on her as he made her feel _good _for the first time in a long time, his hands on her body treating her like she was actually worth something to him and she doesn't want to feel like she wants to be doing it again, truthfully, but she _does_. To be honest, it's better if they just forgot all about it, because, she's learned, when you ignore something it will go away, it's only a matter of time. It seems like he doesn't remember though, and that's a really, really good sign. No awkward talks about how it can never happen again, just a small white lie.

She stumbles on her next few words, "We didn't... I mean... We, I?"

"Nah, I don't remember what happened last night, woke up on the couch," he lies suavely, sending her a smirk (_no, that's not sexy_, she reminds herself). To be honest he was kind of hurt she seemed that disgusted by ever sleeping with him. "But seeing you like this sure hoped it would have."

She sends him daggers as she pulls on a pink sweater over her arms, her eyes widening suddenly as she yells, "_Shit_, what time is it?"

He raises an eyebrow, having expected at least a small witty, snarky remark. "Seven-thirty, why?"

"The kids!" She shouts over her shoulder as she bolts into Nick's room. "Get dressed," she tells them hastily as she throws her hair into a messy ponytail before turning around and bumping in to no other than Puck.

"School?"

"Yes, and I have work in ten minutes, too, so - I'm late, very, very late," she tries to remain calm and somewhat polite as she tries to ignore the way the bare skin of his arms is pressed against hers had felt as slips her sweater back over her shoulder.

"I can take you, I know a shortcut, it'll be faster than the subway," he promises her and she nods already pulling Nick towards the door.

"Mom, I'm still in my pyjamas," he states, rolling his own green eyes and earning a snicker from Puck.

"You two can get dressed in the car."

x

It wasn't like her to be late. She was punctual and professional and on top of that, really enjoyed going to work.

It wasn't like her to bring a (strange, random, means-nothing-to-her) man to work, either. No, seriously, she doesn't even know why he's leaning against her desk and looking at everything and touching all of her stuff. He was just giving her a ride and then he teased her for having her own office and she had to defend herself because she couldn't just let him win and now he's leaning against her desk and touching her stuff and sending her small sexy smirks that make her knees go weak and how? How did she end up in this situation?

"So, Jackson and Nick have that sleepover party tonight, you wanna grab some dinner?"

"I don't know," her voice trails off a little as she pretends to be busy with looking through some files. "God knows what time I'll be home tonight."

"I'll wait," he tells her and she looks up at him, a little surprised, a little turned on by his smirk and how he smells so _nice_ and he's so close, too close, dangerously close.

"Really?" She says softly, blinking a few times to remind herself she's in fact, awake, and not in a bad teen rom com from the early nineties, and that he might not mean it in the way she wants him to mean it.

"I'd kinda wait forever for a girl like you," he says, just as soft and slow, leaning just a little bit closer and he's got her wrapped around his finger. Her breath hitches in her throat as she swallows hard and realizes it can't possibly be _this_ hot this time of year (but each time he leans closer she's reminded of how good his lips felt on hers and how his tan skin looked against her and how his brown eyes held everything she might've ever wanted if she'd just let him).

Suddenly, her phone rings and she snaps out of it, quickly turning away from him.

Richard. She curses to herself as she puts the phone against her ear. "Can I help you with something?"

"Think about it," he mouths, sending her a wink before leaving her office.

"I just wanted to let you know that, me and Emma are moving in together. You know, before you hear it from one of our mutual friends."

Even more annoyed at Richard for interrupting her in the heat of the moment for a useless fact she honestly couldn't care less about (not that she had wanted to act on her feelings anyway because that'd be bad, so bad), she snaps, "That's great. I'm having sex. Thought you should know, before, you know," she narrows her eyes, leaning against a filing cabinet as she sounds just a little more sarcastic than usual, "you hear it from one of our _mutual friends_."

He sighs audibly and she takes satisfaction in knowing she's annoying him (because deep down she knows he hates it she moved on that fast and had_ sex_ for christ sake, something she hadn't given him in _years_!), "Is it that Puck guy?"

"None of your business," she huffs, crossing her arms, as she once again looks at the spot Puck was just a few moments ago, "Now, if that was all, I'm at work. We can't all make our money by letting other people tell us which books are good and which aren't."

He stumbles on his words before she presses the red button and takes a deep breathe. Change was inevitable, and she hadn't escaped it and now here she was. A survivor. It felt liberating in some way. Like she hadn't been alive for all this time, and now, she finally was.

x

Sighing, she finally sits down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Saying she was tired would be a huge understatement but she couldn't pass up the newest episode of _arrow_.

Puck walks in, wearing one of his black, long sleeve, tight fitted v-necks as he leans against the door opening. "I'm guessing that's your dinner?" He raises his eyebrows, amused and she sends him an apologizing look.

"Sorry, busy day at work. That's what you get when you have such a successful presentation and manage to haul in many new clients," she replies without missing a beat as she grins at him before turning her eyes back on the screen.

"Do you think I can crash here? We lost the apartment and I think I overstayed my welcome at my buddies house last time we got kicked out of an apartment."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Jackson's been practically living here anyway. Santana's room is free. You can stay as long as it takes you to find a new apartment," she tells him as she tries not to get distracted by how good his arms look in that damn shirt.

"Thanks.. then I guess I'll be going to bed now," he clarifies, and his voice sounds hopeful, like he suddenly wants them to break open this box of secret silenced things they have stuffed away.

"Okay," she says mindlessly trying to sound like she doesn't really care, focusing her eyes on the hot main character instead of the hot real life character standing a few feet away from her and making her vision kind of blurry.

"Upstairs."

"Mmhm," a small smile forms on her lips because she knows what he's getting at but she's not that easy.

"_Alone_."

"Goodnight, Puck," she says, finally looking at him and he nods, an amused smile on his face before heading for the door to the stairs leading up to the old maid's room.

Sighing, she shakes her head to herself as she pats her stomach, hoping it'll stop the twirling and fluttering.

x

**please review :) to be continued.**


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